


Call of the North

by Blackwidow73



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:03:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackwidow73/pseuds/Blackwidow73
Summary: A man is king because he does what he wants and takes what he wants. Those unjust always learn the hard way that kings too are mere mortals that must suffer consequences like everyone else.





	

“When the stars were right, They could plunge from world to world through the sky; but when the stars were wrong, They could not live.”  
H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulu

Chapter 1: Aftermath 

The screech of metal scratching against the stone walls echoed through the hall as she walked barefoot towards the door. Her deadened eyes were glazed and puffy, her nose red and beginning to bleed. Her small trip had started with haste - storming through the corridors, but she had tired soon and the fire disappeared. The anger that fueled her was nothing more than a flicker that burnt out and left a black void of agonizing emptiness. 

At the age of sixteen, Cersei had felt as though she had aged at least twenty years within the past few months. She came to King’s Landing thinking that Robert would truly love her, that she would finally be free from her father and she would be queen and help rule over everyone. Every day now she was getting reminded of just how dumb she used to be, how naive she must have been to think that any of this would work in her favor. 

The plain truth was that none of this was for her. Sure, she was the one that got to marry the king, she was the woman that got all the nice presents and got to live in the castle. That was small compared to what her father got out of this - the armies, the alliance. Tywin basically traded her like some cheap farm animal for a few extra men to use as targets for the enemies during wartime. 

All her life she had been told what she could and could not do. She was never the perfect little princess that her father wanted her to be. All she wanted was to be able to do what Jaime had been allowed. She wanted the same freedom. The absence of that freedom made her wonder at times whether or not it was really worth living. 

She did have one chance at happiness. It was a very brief chance, and she thought herself foolish to believe that it would last. That baby, her little boy was going to be the one thing that made waking up in the morning necessary. That child was going to make all the suffering tolerable. He was going to be the reason that she would need to remain alive, the one thing that she would have to protect. And now he was nothing more than a bitter memory produced by the cruel, sick joke that was her marriage. 

Opening the door, she stopped in the entrance. This was her brother’s room, the only place where she felt safe anymore. 

“Cersei?” He asked. His brows were knitted in concern as he sat on the edge of his bed, sword at hand as he polished it. 

She didn’t answer. Her sword fell from her hand, crashing to the ground and piercing through the silence that remained between them. She could see that he was worried, as he should have been. She was wearing nothing more than some dainty old nightgown, her hair disheveled. She looked as bad as she felt. 

Her jaw hung open, lip quivering as her shoulders slumped. There was nothing to tell him, he knew what happened. Everyone knew. Baby boy Baratheon was dead. Not only was she not the first chosen wife for Robert, but now she couldn’t even complete the most basic of the duties of the wife. 

Part of her wanted to say something, but there wasn’t anything to say. It was impossible for her to articulate what she was feeling when she could barely think coherently. So she just stood there, relieved to have the only person that cared in the same room. 

Oooooo

Blood dripped from her hair, flowing down her face. Red, sticky arms clung to the toddler as he wept. Her entire body ached, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t care that it hurt to hold her little boy, and she didn’t care that she was beginning to feel dizzy. All that mattered right now was that she had won. 

The feeling of victory was soon swept away with the sound of a baby crying. Her arms remained latched around her son as her heart dropped out of her chest. Every time she had heard the wails of her infant daughter within the past couple of days, her entire body hurt. Her need to hold her baby physically pained her, her breasts sore from not being able to feed her own child. 

Catelyn didn’t hesitate as she scooped Robb into her arms and hurried out of the room and down the staircase. She followed the sounds of the screams, her heart racing. Something told her that she had to be quicker, that she was going to miss her chance. It felt silly for a while, up until the building went silent. That was when her heart stopped. 

She felt the floor fall out from beneath her, yet she managed to start running. There was no thought process involved, she just somehow knew when and where to turn. She knew where her baby was. 

“No!” She screamed as she stood in the doorway. 

Her cries of horror continued as she set Robb down and rushed to the woman suffocating her daughter. “You've no reason to harm her!” 

Catelyn grabbing her wrists and did her best to pry her away from the newborn. For once in her life, Lysa was stronger than her. Perhaps it was the hatred that pulsed through her veins, or the weakness in Catelyn’s muscles from giving birth. No matter what the cause, she silently cursed herself for not being able to free her child of the death grip sooner. 

“She’s not even supposed to be your baby!” Lysa madly shouted, her grip tightening to resist her sister’s attempts. 

Catelyn was finally able to elbow her sister back away from the blue skinned baby. Desperately she started begging her daughter to cry. She picked her up and pat her on the back to try and get her to cry. Tears streamed down her own cheeks as she did her best to deny the very truth that lay limp in her arms - her baby was already dead. 

“Please,” she whimpered, falling to her knees. “Please!” 

“Mama?” Robb called out to her, scared. 

She couldn’t even bring herself to respond. She just sat there, dumbly staring to him with a quivering lip. It felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare, needing to run but, not able to, needing to scream, but her voice trapped in the back of her throat.


End file.
